One Good Turn
by Halcris
Summary: Solving a puzzle has Bodie and Doyle involved in a great deal of 'coming and going'.


**One Good Turn**.

Bodie and Doyle had just enjoyed the rare luxury of a weekend off, and each had spent the time in activities that gave them pleasure and relaxation.

Bodie had taken his current girl-friend on a trip on the river, and Doyle had spent many productive hours working on an old classic motor-bike that he was busy restoring.

So both were rested and alert as they reported to Cowley's office, to see what new piece of work awaited them.

They found their boss scanning the police report that landed on his desk regularly every morning and kept him up-to-date on events all over the country. Halfway down the page, a name caught his eye.

"Here's a name that rings a bell," he said, "Corsaro !"

"Oh yes," Doyle responded instantly, He's a 'gun-runner' who had the cheek to try to set up in Rinaldi territory."

Cowley nodded. He'd known Doyle would remember.

"Wasn't that the time there was an explosion in an old warehouse, and a wall fell on me ?," queried Bodie.

"Correct," confirmed his boss.

"Corsaro's still in prison, isn't he ?," asked Doyle.

"Yes," replied Cowley, "But this report says he had a most unusual visitor yesterday, Carlo Rinaldi !."

"Why would Rinaldi go to see Corsaro,?, " mused Doyle. "Didn't they blame him for their brother's accident ?."

"Yes, at the time they did," agreed Cowley, "and we came close to a 'gang war'. But it was never proved he was responsible."

"We haven't heard much of the Rinaldi clan recently," put in Bodie.

"No," agreed his boss. "Bruno Rinaldi didn't recover well from his car crash. He ended up in a wheel-chair with little hope of improvement. His brothers took him back home to Italy, and stayed on there with him. But he died about six months ago. They've been back here for a couple of months, but they don't seem to be active at present."

"But Carlo went to see Corsaro," commented Doyle. "I wonder what's the significance of that ?."

"According to the officer supervising," said Cowley, re-reading the report, "The meeting was quite calm. Both men seemed a little edgy, but not unfriendly. But we'll keep a careful eye on things and see if anything transpires to warrant our interest."

He then went on to inform them of other matters, and sent them off on some specific enquiries relating to those.

Nothing more of the incident was heard for a while. But one morning Bodie came in with his partner, and seemed excited and eager to report something.

"I had a phone call from Marty last night," he began

"Ah, your dodgy arms-dealer friend," interrupted Cowley.

"He's not dodgy !," protested Bodie indignantly. "He's a legitimate dealer."

"He got hold of another example of that special gun," put in Doyle. "That was more than suspicious !."

"Saved your hide, didn't it ?," riposted Bodie.

"Enough, you two," reprimanded Cowley. "Did Martell have anything worth hearing to tell you ?"

"Rumours, he said," continued Bodie, getting back to the subject. "He'd heard that Konrad Meyer was planning a visit to this country."

"He's one of the biggest munitions manufacturers, isn't he ?," said Doyle. "King pin in Germany."

"I'd already heard that," said Cowley repressively. "Not news."

"Oh," said Bodie, a little daunted by this. "But had you heard that it was at the express request of the Rinaldi's and he'll be staying with them ?."

"That's a new one," conceded Cowley, "Anything else ?."

"Yes," said Bodie, getting into his stride again. "Meyer is considered to be totally above board, but Martell had heard rumours that, in an under-cover way, he was Corsaro's supplier."

"Now, if true, that is interesting," admitted Cowley.

"It could well be," commented Doyle thoughtfully. "Corsaro consistently refused to reveal his contacts, in spite of all the pressure put on him."

A few days later, Cowley volunteered some more information. "Martell got one thing right," he confirmed. "Konrad Meyer is visiting London. He flew in yesterday evening, with his son and two other men. But Martell was quite wrong about the Rinaldi's. He's not staying with them. He's booked a suite at the Savoy."

He glanced again at the report he had been given. "Some pressmen had got wind of his arrival and met him at the airport. One cheeky one asked if he was here on business. He said 'emphatically no !' He'd brought his son, Franz, who has just turned 17, to show him the sights of London." Then he added, "But we'll keep an eye on him anyway."

But the next day, he told Bodie and Doyle that the report he had received was unexceptional. Agents had followed the group about all day, and had found themselves doing the 'tourist trip' around London.

"Meyer appears to be doing just as he said," reported Cowley. "He's hired a chauffeur/guide. Yesterday they drove all over central London. They watched the Changing of the Guard at Buckingham Palace. Then they had a stroll along the Embankment, saw Big Ben, and watched Tower Bridge open and close. All the touristy sights, and the youngster was delighted, taking photo after photo."

"What about the two men who came with Meyer ?," asked Doyle.

"Nothing in Records on either of them," said Cowley. "One, Axel Becker, is an ex-heavy-weight boxer. He went with them."

"Probably a sort of 'minder'," suggested Bodie.

Cowley nodded. That had been his conclusion too.

"The other," he continued, "Ernst Hoffman, works in Meyer's head office. He asked for the financial papers, and stayed in his room all day. He made some phone calls, two to Germany."

"He's likely keeping an eye on the business while Meyer has a break," said Doyle.

"I agree," said his boss. "So we've no reason to be suspicious of anything, but we'll maintain the surveillance, just in case."

As they were only staying for a week, the Meyer's threw themselves into sight-seeing with considerable fervour. They visited the Tower of London, Madame Tussaud's and the Zoo in Regent's Park. They had a whole day's outing to Hampton Court Palace, where Franz was so entranced by the Maze that he insisted on going round it several times. Hoffman did go with them on that trip, but most days he stayed in the hotel with the daily financial papers and access to a telephone.

The men posted for surveillance on him were finding it a pretty boring assignment.

Then there came a change !

On Thursday morning, Meyer and son, with their guide and escort departed on a trip to Richmond and on to Windsor. Hoffman didn't go on this one, remaining in his room all morning.

But just after lunch, a hired car appeared at the hotel entrance, collected Hoffman, and drove him out to Sandown racecourse.

The agent following the cab reported this to base, and Cowley sent another man out there at once to help with the surveillance.

Hoffman watched a couple of races, standing by the rails, though he didn't place any bets. Then he retreated to the restaurant where he secured a table by the window looking out over the course. He ordered a coffee, and appeared to be waiting for someone to join him. And someone did !

Cowley received a call from one of the watching men.

"You'll never guess who Hoffman is meeting, "he said excitedly.

"Come on man, tell me," snapped Cowley irritatedly.

"Carlo Rinaldi," said the young agent triumphantly.

"Now that is interesting !," replied Cowley, his annoyance dissipated.

"Keep a discreet watch and report later," he ordered.

When Bodie and Doyle reported in from the current assignment they were working on, he quickly brought them up to date on this bit of information. They were impressed.

"Maybe something is going on," said Bodie, pleased that his friend, Marty's information, which Cowley had treated so dismissively, looked now as if it might be vindicated.

"If those three, Corsaro, Meyer and Rinaldi are getting together, it's a most 'unholy trio'," commented Doyle.

"Yes," agreed his boss, "So we'll be keeping a very keen eye out for any developments."

But for quite a while there were no signs of any developments at all. Meyer and his entourage returned to their home in Munich. And the Rinaldi's were very quiet, ostensibly doing nothing untoward.

But then the event that did happen surprised even the unflappable Cowley !

Bodie and Doyle had just reported in for their usual early morning briefing, and were waiting to find out what their day's assignment would be. Cowley was seated at his desk. He had just opened a heavy folder containing the latest reports from the police. The watching pair heard him give a suppressed exclamation as he read the top sheet.

He took it from the folder and handed it to them. They held it between them and put their heads close to read it. And they were as dumbfounded as their boss at what they saw.

Corsaro had been 'sprung' from jail !

Apparently he had complained of feeling ill. He had been admitted to the small hospital ward at the prison, but nothing they had tried had seemed to help his condition at all. So it had been decided to transfer him to a different prison which had a larger ward, a more senior doctor and better facilities.

But on the way there, the ambulance had been ambushed, and Corsaro had been spirited away by a group of armed, masked men. The guards and the two ambulance men had not been harmed, just temporarily locked in their vehicle until they were found and released.

The pair finished reading and exchanged glances.

"Well, there's a 'turn-up for the books'," exclaimed Bodie.

"So Corsaro is out," said Doyle. "I wonder where he is now ?."

He looked again at the report. "I see it happened near Bedford," he said, "That's not so far away. He could easily be back in London somewhere."

"Well, that's your next assignment," snapped Cowley. "Get out there and find him !."

"It's all right for him," grumbled Bodie, as they walked along the corridor. Get out there and find him, he says. But where do we start ?"

"Records office," replied his partner instantly, "to get a picture we can have copied and circulated."

Trust you to think of something practical, thought Bodie to himself. But it was the thing to do and they got on with it. They found the picture of Corsaro, had copies made for themselves, and left the operator churning out more, to be distributed to all other agents.

Bodie was just about to start up the car when Doyle put a restraining hand on his arm.

"Wait a minute," he said, "Let's have a think about this situation."

Bodie turned an enquiring look at his partner. "What's on your mind ?," he asked.

"Well," Doyle began, "We caught Corsaro before he'd got himself very well established, didn't we ?"

"So ?," queried Bodie.

"It means, to my mind," mused Doyle, "that he hasn't the contacts or resources to arrange his escape himself."

"But the Rinaldi's certainly have," replied Bodie, following his mate's train of thought. "So what's in it for them ?,"

"The Rinaldi's had a good operation going till they took this break," continued Doyle, "But we never really knew who their supplier was."

Bodie responded quickly, "But if, as we suspect, Corsaro's supplier is really Meyer, it's a much bigger and better source."

"Quite," agreed Doyle, "and another thing, we caught Corsaro mainly because he had to hire transport for his goods."

"And the Rinaldi's front is as a legitimate import/export business. Which means they have a number of big lorries."

"That's it," said Doyle. "They've been stopped and examined more than once on suspicion, but we've never been lucky enough to find anything."

"It begins to make sense," said Bodie. "An alliance of all three of them could set up quite a scheme."

He thought for a moment, and then made a suggestion."Let's go and bring Marty up to date," he said. He caught Doyle's expression as he pulled a face at this idea.

"You don't like Martell, do you ?," he said. "But he is 'legit', really."

"Is he ?," riposted his mate. "I'll never forget Cowley's face, when you held that gun he got for you, said it was a 'dummy', and shot a burst of fire across the river."

Bodie grinned as he remembered the incident. "Yes, that was more than a bit unexpected, wasn't it ?."

Doyle opened the car door and started to leave. "You go and see your friend," he said, "and I'll take this picture round some of the people I know."

So they set off on separate tasks.

But in spite of the efforts of all the agents, no trace of Corsaro was found. With all the immediate checks that had gone into place it was unlikely that he had left the country, so he must have gone to ground somewhere and found a secure hiding-place.

Checking the reports with Cowley in the office, Bodie was heard to complain bitterly. "I bet the Rinaldi's are hiding him" he said.

"I agree it's more than likely," said his boss, "but we can't prove it."

He went on to pass on more information about the Rinaldi brothers. "Now that they are back," he reported, "they are stepping up their business again. They have bought several new lorries."

"They are very distinctive," commented Doyle. "With their red paint-work, and the firm's name emblazoned along the side."

"Yes," agreed his partner, "You see them quite often about the streets."

"We have made careful checks on their business," went on Cowley. "They import goods from India and China, mainly textiles and ceramics. Some of it goes into the home markets. The rest is re-loaded and exported to various parts of Europe. Then the lorries pick up a return cargo of machine parts and tools, mainly from Germany. These go straight to the London docks, where the loads are put aboard freighters, and exported to various destinations. It's a pretty straight-forward set-up."

"And a brilliant cover if they are up to something on the side," said Doyle, and the others nodded.

Nothing relevant happened for a while. Then one morning, when they reported in to Cowley's office, they found him intently studying a report.

"This is interesting," he said. "It's a report from Interpol about an occurrence in Lebanon. They intercepted and confiscated several crates of arms. They did a great deal of checking, and eventually found that they must have come in through Haifa in Israel, from a freighter called the Marquessa, which had sailed from docks in London. They have passed it to me to investigate this end."

He handed a folder to his two attentive listeners. "I've got you copies of the details," he said, "But that's your task now. Get down to the docks and find out about the Marquessa."

Bodie and Doyle hurried off. This was interesting, a bit different from some of their routine enquiry work. Bodie drove, while Doyle read through the papers in the folder he'd been given.

"Guess what ?," he exclaimed, "Surprise, surprise, the goods they can't account for are four larges crates of machine parts, sent by the Rinaldi's to an address in Israel that doesn't exist."

They enlisted the help of the Dock Master, and using his advice located the exact dock the Marqussa usually used, and from his dock rota they were pointed in the direction of the group of stevedores involved in loading the ship.

One of them in particular was quite vociferous. "Yes, I remember that job," he said. "Those four crates were particularly heavy. I was due to go on holiday the next day and I remember thinking 'don't let me put my back out just before I go away'."

They now had good information about the lorry that had brought the crates, including its number-plate. So they could trace it back along its journey.

The next stop was Dover, to the ferry terminal where they found the vehicle listed as having come over on the first morning ferry. Its papers had all been in order so it had gone straight through.

"Fancy a trip abroad ?," Doyle asked Bodie. "How's your French ?." Using their authority, they booked themselves on the next ferry across to Calais and went straight to the vehicle check point there.

Fortunately the officer in charge spoke excellent English. He consulted his log using the data and the dates that they had supplied."Yes," he confirmed after a few moments searching, "That lorry checked in late the night before. It was one of the last to have its load opened, examined and checked. Then it was booked onto the first ferry in the morning, ready with all the correctly signed papers."

"What now ?," asked Bodie as the left the office of the so-helpful official..

"Well, according to the manifest, the crates were loaded at this factory in Munich."

"One of Meyer's places ?," Bodie suggested eagerly.

"Not by the name," replied Doyle.

"Next stop Munich then," said Bodie. "Spracken zie Deutch ?."

They quickly hired a car and set off across Europe towards Germany. Arriving in Munich, it didn't take them long to be directed to the named factory. There they met the manager, were shown his order book, and confirmed that the crates that had been picked up had been carefully packed with the requested machine parts, and had been thoroughly checked. The man was a bit stiff at first, but mellowed when he realised they only wanted to confirm the despatch. His firm did a regular trade with the Rinaldi's , he said, and had never had any problem with them.

That seemed to be that, so they made their way back home. As Bodie did most of the driving, Doyle had the task of writing up a detailed report to give to Cowley on their return.

They duly reported to their boss, handing him the result of their work. He read it through carefully a couple of times. "Most comprehensive," was his comment at last, and Doyle breathed an inward sigh of relief.

"And yet it must be wrong somewhere," continued their boss, his expression both annoyed and puzzled. "According to this, those crates of machine parts were loaded in Germany, travelled across Europe, were checked at Calais, crossed the Channel to Dover, went straight to London docks, were loaded onto a ship, sailed through the Mediterranean to Haifa in Israel. And yet somewhere along the way they were transformed into four crates of firearms. How and when ?."

His men were as puzzled as he was and left the office still thinking about it. The mystery kept two of them awake half the night, Cowley and Doyle. Not so Bodie who was more concerned with the news he had just learned, that his current girl-friend was now seeing another man.

But Doyle kept turning the problem over and over in his mind. He woke in the middle of the night and lay awake trying to puzzle it out.

The firm that had supplied the machine parts, although it was later revealed to be a subsidiary of Meyer's, had no connection with the munitions side of his business. And those parts had clearly reached Calais, for they had been examined and checked there. He looked at the details of times on his list and could see that the lorry had gone straight from Dover to the docks.

But the crates that arrived in Israel contained weapons, so they must have been on that lorry !

So somewhere between Calais and Dover, machine parts had become guns.

It seemed impossible. How had it happened. ?

He looked at the times again, and a new thought came into his mind. The lorry had been examined and checked late one evening, but it hadn't embarked on the ferry till early morning. Where had it been all night ?

As early as was feasible, he called Cowley. "Sir," he said, "I need to go to Calais again today, to check up on a few things."

"All right, if you must," his boss agreed, "But you'll have to go alone. I need Bodie for something else today."

"I don't need my hand held to make a few enquiries !," snapped Doyle, irked by this.

"Don't take the huff, laddie," said Cowley placatingly. "I put you into teams to watch each other's backs when the situation requires it, and this doesn't."

"Sorry, sir," Doyle apologised, "I didn't get much sleep last night."

"Nor did I," replied Cowley. "But I must have Bodie today."

"Truth is," confessed Doyle, "I'll do better on my own. I'm afraid I'm in Bodie's 'black books' at the moment.

"Oh, why is that ?," queried Cowley wondering if they'd fallen out during their foreign trip.

"I'm afraid I don't trust his friend Martell the way he does," replied Doyle.

"That's all right," said Cowley, with the hint of a laugh in his voice, "Neither do I !"

So Doyle set off down to Dover, used his I.D. to get a passage on the first available ferry, and was soon in France again. He made his way to the check-point, and found the amiable official he had spoken to before. He posed his so-important question.

"This lorry we are interested in," he began. "It was examined and cleared late one evening, but didn't embark till early morning. Where would it have been all night ?."

"Oh, that's easy," replied the man cheerfully, "Two hundred metres that way," he said, pointing up the road. "There's a huge parking area. That's where everything waiting to board the next ferry goes. There's plenty of room, and it's free."

"Merci," said Doyle. "I'll go along and have a look."

"Talk to Alphonse," said the official. "Tell him I sent you. He'll give you any information you need."

Doyle walked the short distance, and found the place just as the man had described. It was a large open space, only partially enclosed with a high wire fence. It was half-full of parked vehicles, lorries of all shapes and sizes, some vans and a sprinkling of private cars.

He found the man he was looking for in a little hut, by the wide un-gated entrance. Alphonse was a tubby little Frenchman, smelling rather strongly of garlic. He seemed most impressed when Doyle showed him his I.D. card, though he clearly didn't understand a word of it, and became instantly deferential and ready to talk. He did seem to have a fair amount of English.

"I wanted to see where a lorry I'm interested in would have been all night," explained Doyle.

"Last night ?," queried the man.

"Oh, no, some time ago," admitted Doyle. "It was a Rinaldi lorry."

"Mais oui," exclaimed Alphonse, smiling happily, "Tres rouge, n'est pas ?."

Doyle nodded. The little man was right. Rinaldi lorries were very red.

"The Rinaldi's are big business," went on the little Frenchman. Their lorries come and go regularly. There are always one or two about."

He pointed across the extensive space. "Voici, there is one there now, over in that far corner. That's their favourite place. They usually go over there if there's room."

"Is there any security in place ?," asked Doyle.

"Not much," replied Alphonse. "It's free, you see, and vehicles are constantly in and out, so there are no checks. Lorry drivers usually sleep in their cabs, so they look after themselves. We do get a few private car drivers who like to lock up their cars and seek more comfortable accommodation for the night somewhere in the town. So there are a couple of men who patrol round at night to keep at eye out. They get good tips, I think," he added enviously.

Doyle thanked him, and started off on his trip home, thinking over all he had heard and seen. He was lucky enough to reach the ferry minutes before it was due to leave and hurried aboard. It was a pleasantly warm day, so he lounged in the sun up on deck, and pondered over the problem.

With the lack of security in the parking area, it would be quite easy for a lorry containing the crates of guns to come in and park close to the one which already had its papers in order. But how could they manage to switch their loads ? Moving those heavy crates would require a fork-lift truck, or some sort of lifting gear, and that would never pass un-noticed.

Then suddenly, he had it ! The solution came to him so quickly that he sat bolt upright, and let out an exclamation that startled all those other passengers sitting near him.

"Sorry," he said, smiling apologetically. "An 'Eureka moment' to do with my work."

"Get you a raise, will it ?," asked one young man cheekily.

"I wish," said Doyle, so emphatically that it raised a sympathetic laugh.

But inwardly he was so exultant. He couldn't wait to get back to tell Cowley his idea. It was so simple but so effective. Rinaldi lorries were all identical ! Swapping their cargoes would not be possible, but changing the number plates would be easy !

With one driver keeping a look-out for the patrolling men, under cover of a dark night the other could change the number plates in minutes ! Then in the morning, having swapped drivers and papers too, the lorry that ostensibly had been already checked, would embark and cross the Channel un-challenged.

The remaining lorry would wait a while, and then apply to be examined and booked across in the usual manner. Alphonse had said they were continually coming and going so there would be no reason for anyone to suspect anything different.

The ice having been broken, the rest of the journey passed with pleasant trivial conversation with the other passengers enjoying the sunshine, though of course, Doyle was careful not to let slip the slightest hint as to who he was or what he did.

He collected his car and shot back to London at top speed. He was lucky enough to learn that both Cowley and Bodie were in the office, having just returned from the special task they had completed. He tapped on the door and was called in.

The two men looked at the new arrival, and could see the suppressed excitement in his attitude. But Bodie couldn't resist teasing his mate.

"So, who's been having a bit of 'ou la-la' in France then," he said. "While we've been slaving back here ?.

"I was working too," protested Doyle, "and I've found the answer."

"The answer to what ?," said Bodie, "Life and all that ?"

Doyle ignored him and pressed on."I've found out how those crates of guns got through," he exclaimed, and immediately had their attention.

Both men listened intently as Doyle related all he had heard and seen, and the conclusions he had drawn. His report was so clear and straight-forward that both his listeners were impressed, and his boss even uttered, which was for him, an unusual word of praise.

"Well done, Doyle," he said. "So simple, but it works of course.."

"Great stuff, mate," exclaimed Bodie enthusiastically, "We've got the Rinaldi's at last."

"Not so fast, Bodie." reproved Cowley. "It's too late to put together enough evidence from the last time it was done."

Bodie looked disappointed. "So what do we do now ?," he asked rather plaintively. His mate supplied the answer.

"We wait till it happens again," he said, "and then we catch them red-handed loading the guns and then we will have irrefutable evidence."

"How will we know," queried Bodie, "They'll only do it occasionally, won't they ?."

"We'll have to wait for the right co-incidences," replied his partner.

"What do you mean ?," asked a puzzled Bodie.

"We need a ship booked to carry a Rinaldi order of machine-parts to the Middle East. It might not be the Marquessa again, The Rinaldi's don't have their own ships. They hire space on any ship going to the right destination."

"That should be fairly easy," said Bodie, beginning to understand, "with the help of the Dock master and the shipping lists."

But the other part won't be so easy," went on Doyle. "We have to look out for a Rinaldi lorry arriving late to be examined and then booked on the first morning ferry. I imagine that can happen fairly often, and most of the time the trips will be completely above-board."

"But when the two parts co-incide !," exclaimed Bodie, now seeing his mate's reasoning."

"That's it," confirmed Doyle.

Cowley had been listening silently as his two main operatives used their wits to think through the problem. Doyle's clever reasoning had mirrored his own thoughts on the situation.

Now he took charge again and added his own contribution, "We can't keep a man over in France constantly watching," he said. "Is there anyone who would let us know about the lorry movements ?."

"The official I spoke to was very helpful," said Doyle thoughtfully, "but I think he's too busy to have time to help us. Alphonse knows all about the lorries in his car park, but I doubt whether he's bright enough to rely on."

"We'll have to work from the ship angle, then," said Cowley firmly. "Keep a look out for a likely one, and then you can check the lorry that corresponds as it comes to make its delivery. But make your shipping enquiries very discretely. We don't want to alert the Rinaldi's that we're onto their scheme."

"I hate these 'waiting games'," grumbled Bodie as they went down the stairs.

"I know you do," commiserated Doyle, "but just consider this. If we pull this off, we'll be rid of the Rinaldi's for a long time."  
Bodie's face brightened at that thought.

As Doyle had predicted, the task proved far from easy. It soon became quite clear that a Rinaldi lorry on the first morning ferry was not unusual.

But a day or so later, they found, to their amazement, that Cowley had managed something special to help with that.

He'd found a 'ferry freak', a wheelchair-bound man who had utilised a powerful telescope, and a window with a commanding view, to build himself an absorbing hobby. A poor sleeper, the man regularly studied the first ferry every morning, making notes of what was on it. He was compiling an extensive batch of statistics, purely for his own amusement.

Bodie and Doyle had learned from his secretary, that Cowley had gone down himself to visit this man, and had motivated him to work for C.I.5. He'd been given a number to ring whenever he spotted the bright red of a Rinaldi lorry on the first morning ferry. This turned out to be 4 or 5 times a week, but the agent receiving the calls, correlated them with the information that was being collected about ships in the docks with significant destinations, and only reported the 'possibles'.

One of these was considered when a ship called the Arabella was reported to have a Rinaldi order of machine parts going to Aden.

Cowley got the police to intercept the lorry on its way to the docks in an apparently routine spot check. He'd had a back-up team ready, but didn't want to risk alerting the Rinaldi's if it was an error. And it was just as well that he had taken this precaution, for the load turned out to be totally legitimate. The address of the destination was quickly checked, and the order was found to be exactly as described, machine parts and spares destined for a new pumping station being built just inland from Aden.

Bodie and Doyle, who had been part of the back-up team, were very disappointed. Doyle in particular was feeling frustrated. Ever since he had worked out how the Rinaldi's had smuggled a cargo of arms through, he had been very keen to prove his theory right and catch them in the act. He had accepted that it wasn't something they did on a weekly basis, but only occasionally, but he was getting impatient, waiting for the next time.

He was on his own today. There was a weaponry-training course going on for some of the newer men. An instructor had been taken ill, and because of his detailed knowledge, Bodie had been sent there to fill in temporarily.

Doyle had been ordered to check on the next month's shipping lists. He had just completed the task, and was preparing to leave, when he posed an idle question.

"What's in that small dock today ?," he asked.

The man consulted his lists. "There's only one this morning," he replied, "and that's the Marquessa."

Doyle's interest was instantly aroused. "With a Rinaldi order ?," he queried.

"Yes," confirmed the man. "A lot of machine parts as usual."

"Where's it going ?," asked Doyle eagerly.

"Tripoli, in Libya," replied the man, "and then she's going on through the Suez Canal to Bombay to pick up a return load of textiles."

"Oh, so it is going to the Middle East," said Doyle. "Any stops there ?,"

"None scheduled," replied the man, "It should be empty after Tripoli."

Doyle left the man's office and walked back to his car. It all sounded perfectly correct, but some niggling thought in his mind was making him suspicious. What if only part of the cargo was unloaded in Tripoli, and the rest secretly somewhere in the Middle East ? The Rinaldi's had used the Marquessa before. Were the ship's owners in on the scheme ?

He made a quick decision. As he was quite near the dock in question, he would go and have a surreptitious look.

. He didn't want to be noticed, so he parked his car a little way away, and walked in towards the dock, using the cover of the warehouse buildings. He reached a point in the shadows where he could see the ship. It was being unloaded. The crane and the cargo nets were in full use, and crates were being piled up to one side.

As he watched, a big red lorry swept past him, and went on to park close to the ship. Two men, the driver and his mate, climbed down from the cabin, and went to speak to the gang of stevedores moving towards them.

The activity at the ship had stopped. Presumably it was now empty, and awaiting its new cargo. A fork-lift truck emerged from the far shadows, as Rinaldi's men opened up the rear doors of the lorry. Then crates were lifted out, and carried across to the waiting crane. It re-started its action and began putting them one by one down into the ship's hold.

They were waiting for the Rinaldi lorry, thought Doyle, and it looks as if their crates were the first to be loaded. That fitted with his initial suspicious thought. But was there any way to test his idea ?

The two Rinaldi men were at the rear of the lorry, supervising the unloading. So, on impulse, he decided to have a quick look at the front number plate. Perhaps he would be able to tell if it had been changed.

He crept forward cautiously, and crouched at the front of the large vehicle. He looked carefully at the number-plate. Yes, there were scratches on the paint, marks on the screw-heads, and smudges in the surrounding dust that might well indicate that a switch had taken place !

But he didn't get the chance to do anything about his discovery. Sensing danger, he started to move, but was not quick enough, and was felled by a vicious blow from a heavy spanner. He collapsed to the hard ground and knew no more.

Unfortunately, in spite of his care, he had not been un-observed. The work force had moved towards the ship with the last of the crates, and had not yet started to return with the crates of textiles which were to be picked up. The Rinaldi men had stayed beside their lorry, and one of them had just happened to glance towards the cab, and had spotted Doyle moving in towards it. He had crept quietly along the side of the lorry, reached into his cab for the spanner and had leapt round to the front to deal with the 'snooper'

He was standing over his victim as his mate hurried to join him.

"What have you done, Bob ?," gasped the man. "Have you killed him ?"

"Nah !," replied Bob, "I don't think so. He was snooping !."

"What are you going to do with him now," queried the man. "Tip him in the dock ?."

"No way," replied Bob quickly. "The Rinaldi's pay well. But not enough for murder, thank you."

He was gazing around, and spotted something way off to the left, almost out of sight of the ship. "Look," he said, "there are a couple of those containers the bigger ships use. Help me stick him in one of those. He'll be found eventually, but by then we'll be long gone, and so will the ship."

Using the cover of the dark shadows of the warehouses, they did just that, and pitched the limp form into an empty container, dropping the closing bar back into place.

Then they hurried back to their lorry, just as the fork-lift reached it, bearing the first of the crates of textiles from India. They were very relieved that no-one appeared to have noticed what they had been doing.

But they were wrong when they assumed that, for, unknown to them, someone had observed all their actions.

Nearer the entrance, on the side away from the ship, was a workman's hut. It wasn't very big, and was inconspicuous against a warehouse wall. It was, during the dark hours of the night, the night-watchman's retreat. During the day it was used occasionally by the men working on the dock. It had a kettle so they could make tea or coffee, and benches to sit on to eat their lunch if the weather outside was cold or wet.

There shouldn't have been anyone there at this time. Early in the morning, a small group had been chosen to deal with the Marquessa, the only ship due in today. The rest had been sent home, and told to report the following day when there would be more ships to deal with and work for them all.

But one man had got all the way home before he realised that he had left his lunch-box in the hut. As the food would spoil if left, and he couldn't afford that, he decided to go back and get it. He had entered the hut un-noticed, collected the lunch-box, and was just looking out of the small window at the work in progress on the Marquessa, before he slipped away home again.

He saw the attack on the man beside the lorry. He was horrified, but didn't quite know what to do. He really wasn't supposed to be there. And then he saw the drivers lift the man and carry him the short distance away, sticking him in one of those containers.

That decided him. I'll wait till they've gone, he thought. Then I'll go and see if I can help the man. So he went to sit quietly in a corner, where he wouldn't be seen from the window, and with the patience of his race, waited.

After a while, he heard the lorry's engine start up, and saw a flash of red as it swept past the window and made its way out onto the road. He listened carefully, and as he could hear no sound of activity, risked going to the window for a look. There was nothing moving at all. The crane and the fork-lift had been parked back in their usual places, and the gang of stevedores had evidently gone home.

With the lorry gone, he could now see the ship docked beyond.. There was no movement there either. The covers were on the holds, and there was no-one on deck. Perhaps the crew were having a meal below as they waited for the correct phase of the tide before casting off.

He could now risk leaving his hiding-place. Keeping to the shadows, just in case, he moved silently towards the containers. He gently eased the locking-bar upward, trying not to make a sound, and slowly opened the door.

The figure inside was lying still and there was a small patch of blood near his head. The sight made the man quail. Had he found a corpse, the victim of murder ?

As he climbed up for a closer look, the rescuer sensed something familiar about the limp form. He gently rolled him over. Yes, the face and the dark curly hair, he had seen before !. This was Ray Doyle, the man who had helped his sister when she was attacked, and whom she had later nursed in hospital.

He shook him gently, but there was no response. Doyle was breathing, but he looked to be deeply unconscious. What should he do now. ? How best to get him the help he so obviously needed ? He remembered that his sister had told him that Doyle was some kind of special policeman. He decided he must try to rouse him, so that he could tell him who to contact.

Chung was a strong man. He eased the man closer to the door, jumped down, and then effortlessly heaved the slim form over his broad shoulder. He closed the container door, sliding the bar back into place.

Then keeping still to the shadows, he hurried back to the hut. He eased Doyle down to lie along the bench. He found a tea-towel, made it wet, and laid it, neatly folded, across Doyle's forehead, hoping it would help.

It did. The recumbent man began to stir, trying to sit up. Chung laid a restraining hand on his shoulder. "Rest," he said. "No hurry get up."

But Doyle didn't listen. He struggled to sit up, and managed it at last, leaning weakly against the back wall. His head was aching abominably, and when he fought to open his eyes, his vision was blurred. He blinked rapidly and it cleared enough for him to see the concerned face in front of him.

"Chung ?," he queried, very confused.

"Yes," replied the big Chinaman. "I see man hit you. When they go, I try to help."

"I'm grateful," said Doyle. His head was beginning to clear a little, and he looked round to see where he was.

Seeing his puzzled expression, Chung explained. "Workman's rest hut," he said, "at docks."

Doyle nodded, and wished he hadn't, as lights flashed before his eyes. "Phone," he said, "Must get to a phone."

Chung pointed to the end of the room, where there was a small table, and sitting on it, a phone, strictly for the watchman's use.

Doyle stood up to go to it, and almost fell over, saved by Chung's quick arm. With the man's help, he staggered over to the table, and sank into the chair beside it. He grabbed the phone and pulled it towards him, but when he tried to dial he found he could barely pick out the numbers.

He endeavoured to pull himself together, concentrated hard, and mostly by touch, dialled the number for the C.I 5's base. The number was ringing, but Doyle didn't hear it. The effort had been too much, and he was now slumped across the table, out to the world !

Nervously, Chung picked up the dropped receiver. He was not used to phones, and was not sure what to do. He jumped in surprise when a voice in his ear said "Hello," and then "Who is this ?."

He pulled himself together, and answered the voice. "My name is Chung. I am friend of Ray Doyle. He phone, but he is hurt bad. He passed out now. Please help."

The voice on the other end was calm and re-assuring. "Yes, Chung, we will help. Tell us where you are, and wait for us there. We will come as quickly as we can."

So Chung told him where to come, and didn't have very long to wait, before a car raced into the dockyard, and pulled up outside the little hut. Several men leapt out and hurried in.

A tall dark-haired man with a very calm manner seemed to be in charge.. He took Chung by the arm, and led him to sit on the bench, while the other men gave their full attention to Doyle's slumped form.

"Now, Chung," said Murphy gently, "Take it slowly and tell me just what happened."

So Chung told him all he had seen, and what he had done when the lorry had gone.

"Well done, Chung," said Murphy at last. "I'm so glad you were here to help. We'll take charge now."

He stood up, moving towards the others to issue quick orders. "Jax and I will take Doyle to the hospital. It'll be quicker than waiting for an ambulance."He fished in Doyle's pocket, and pulled out some keys.

"Here, Jenson," he said, "Find Doyle's car. It can't be far away, and take it back to the yard. Then you'd better report to Cowley if he's back."

Then he added an afterthought. "You could give Chung here a lift home, as he's been so helpful."

Things moved quickly after that, and soon the dockyard was quiet and deserted again.

Jenson spoke to Chung in a friendly manner, as he could see the man was somewhat bewildered by events, and together they searched the side streets for Doyle's car. It didn't take them long to find it, and Jenson did as suggested and dropped Chung home, before hurrying back to base to report to their boss.

Murphy and Jax had, with some difficulty, got Doyle into the car. Jax drove while Murphy sat in the back, and held on to his still unconscious colleague. He gazed worriedly at the head injury with the co-agulating blood matting the dark curls. It looked nasty !

Arriving at the hospital, they sought assistance. Doyle was quickly moved in and came under the care of the doctor on emergency duty, an older man called Dr. Phillips. He quickly instructed a nurse to deal with the head wound. She carefully cut away several blood-soaked curls, and bathed and dressed the injury. As she finished, Doyle was beginning to stir again, regaining consciousness, though he seemed a little dis-orientated and confused.

Dr. Phillips examined his patient carefully, and did several routine tests, which involved checking his vision and his responses. He was far from satisfied with the results and issued his instructions.

He then went to find Murphy in the nearby waiting-room, and came straight to the point. "Your colleague is suffering from severe concussion," he said. "So he is being admitted for bed-rest and careful monitoring."

Murphy returned to the car where Jax was waiting. He'd hardly climbed in, when the car phone rang. It was their boss, Cowley. He'd just got back into the office, and had had a version of events from Jenson. Murphy repeated the doctor's words about Doyle's condition. He was ordered to return to base at once, where Cowley demanded all the details he could give him about what had happened.

"What was he doing at the docks ?," commented Cowley in a puzzled tone. "He had shipping lists to check, but that was at the office, not the dock."

Murphy had no answer to that question.

"Bodie will be back soon," said Cowley, "I'll send him down to talk to him."

Back at the hospital, Doyle had been transferred upstairs and was being admitted into one of the wards. Now that he was fully awake, he was protesting vehemently against being put to bed.

"I need to make a phone call, urgently," he demanded.

"Tomorrow, when you're feeling better," said the nurse, trying to soothe her recalcitrant patient.

"That won't do !," said Doyle agitatedly. "Where's Dr. Fenton ? He would understand."

Almost as if he'd heard his name called, Dr. Fenton appeared in the doorway. He'd just come back on duty, and had heard that Doyle was being admitted. He hurried forward, and was rather dismayed at his friend's condition. Doyle was very pale, apart from flushed cheeks, and his eyes were overly bright. He was for from well.

Doyle's relief was palpable. He clutched his friend's arm fiercely. "I need to talk to Cowley," he said urgently. "Can you get me a phone, please ?"

Dr. Fenton led his friend to the bed being prepared for him, and made him sit down. "I don't think you're fit for that," he said soothingly, "But Bodie's here, asking about you. Will he do ?."

"Yes, oh yes," exclaimed Doyle, and relaxed a little. The doctor immediately sent a nurse to fetch Bodie who was waiting in Reception. Then he helped another nurse get Doyle into bed.

Bodie hurried in. He was somewhat alarmed by the look of his partner. He was obviously ill. But he was very relieved to see their friend, Dr. Fenton, now seemed to be in charge. Dr, Phillips had issued a 'No Visitors' instruction, so he'd been refused permission to see Doyle when he first arrived.

"Don't be too long," advised Fenton. "He needs to rest, but he won't do that till he's passed on some information, I think."

Bodie quickly pulled a chair close to the bed, and leant close to listen. And Doyle rapidly told him what had aroused his suspicions about the Marquessa, and what he had seen at the docks.

"Tell Cowley," said Doyle at last, and relaxed back into the comfort of the bed. His head was aching badly again, and he needed to sleep.

"I will, straight away," promised Bodie, standing up. "Now you rest, and let Simon look after you."

It was some days before he was able to visit his friend again. He'd had to fill in at the weaponry course for several days. But he had phoned regularly, speaking to Dr. Fenton, who told him Doyle was now resting and sleeping properly, and was quickly improving.

So he breezed into Doyle's room one afternoon, to find his mate sitting up in bed, and looking much better. But when he sat down and asked how he was, he was surprised to find that his response sounded rather tired and depressed.

"What's up with you, mate ?," he asked, "Simon says you've done well, and they'll be discharging you tomorrow."

Doyle nodded, but with little enthusiasm

"Are you sad about leaving all the pretty nurses ?," said Bodie cheekily.

Doyle ignored his mate's teasing "I 'muffed it up', didn't I ?," he explained. "If I hadn't been careless enough to get clobbered, I could have told Cowley then, and he'd have had time to do something."

He scowled unhappily and continued, "But now it's too late, and the Rinaldi's have got away with it again," he said morosely.

Now Bodie understood, and hastened to make things right. "Stop beating yourself up about that," he said cheerfully. "It wasn't too late, and our clever boss has done something about it. That's what I've come to tell you about"

Doyle's expressive face brightened. "Tell me !," he demanded, and listened eagerly.

"Well," began Bodie, "He got straight onto Interpol, and they acted. They had a force of men waiting, when the Marquessa docked at Tripoli. They held back till the normal un-loading was completed and then they moved in. And found that the supposedly empty ship wasn't empty at all ! There were still four large crates in the hold, labelled as an order of machine-parts, sent by the Rinaldi's. But when they opened those crates, those machine parts had somehow become a load of automatic rifles and hand guns !"

"I was right in my suspicions," exclaimed Doyle. His manner had changed completely. He was now bright and alert.

Bodie was pleased to see it. Trust his sensitive partner to blame himself for things he had no control over. He went on with his story.

"The captain, who is also the owner of the ship, at first protested that he knew nothing about it.. But that didn't last long under questioning. He changed his tune and is now 'singing' like the proverbial canary. His evidence is being processed and documented, and very soon the Rinaldi's are going to receive an un-expected visit from some men with a warrant !

"At last," exclaimed Doyle, "We've got them at last."

Bodie was very glad to see that he had cheered his partner, and he seemed back to his usual self.

"Right," he said, "You relax now, and enjoy the last few hours of being looked after, before they turf you out. Call when you're ready and someone will come for you. Your car's at the yard."

As he stood up to go, there was a gentle tap on the door. It opened and there was a familiar neat figure, Meilin.!

She came in and approached the foot of the bed, smiling at them both.

"Chung told me what happened," she said, "I asked Dr. Fenton if I might come to see how you are."

"I'm much better," said Doyle. "I go home tomorrow, I think. I am very glad to see you. Please will you thank Chung for me, for all his help."

"It was very lucky he was there," chipped in Bodie, smiling at her.

"Yes, it was fortunate," she replied. "But you have an appropriate saying, I think. 'One good turn ….."

"Deserves another," Bodie and Doyle completed the saying in unison, and she nodded.

"It is good," she said.


End file.
